Master was very much pleased with his wife for gratifying him, and he kept looking kindly down at her as she waddled along the sidewalk.
She was all in fur—coat, muff and cap. Several little baby seals must have starved to death, and several mother seals must have died in agony to fit her out.
She didn’t care, for one day I saw her read a story about the cruel seal traffic, and throw it in the fire. I knew what it was, for master told her about it, and then handed it to her.
Well, just as we got opposite Stanna’s house, she started to “jay-walk” across the street, as Gringo says—that is, to cross it in the middle of a block.
Master caught her arm, and said, “Wait a minute—there are too many cars passing.”
“They’ll stop when they see us,” she said impatiently, and she pulled her arm away from him. He tried to catch her again, but she was slippery in her furs, then he got behind her, and literally tried to run her across the street.
If she had only done as he wished her to do, but shestopped short, as she saw a car bearing swiftly down upon her, and screamed.
Now I do think automobiles are driven too fast in many cases, but I have seen Louis get wild with excitement, and say that he thinks he will lose his mind over those persons who won’t use the crossings, and who get right in front of his machine in the middle of blocks.
Poor mistress, she didn’t know anything about the trials of chauffeurs, and, in a flash, right there before my eyes as I hesitated in the background, for something told me what was coming—I saw her and my dear master struck by a little coupé, rolled over and over in the dust, and finally lying quite still.
I shrieked in agony, and a silly doglet who was gazing from a window told me afterward that she nearly died laughing to see me standing with one paw uplifted as if I could help them.
The people in the coupé were nearly crazy. They jumped out, lifted my master who was merely dazed, then took up my poor mistress who was bleeding from wounds on her pretty face, hurried her into a powerful limousine that had stopped at sight of the accident, and rushed her to a hospital.
I dashed after it, and kept it in sight till we got near the hospital, where I sank on the ground, more dead than alive.
After a long, long time my master came out. A doctor took him in his car, I got in beside them, and we drove sadly home.
That was the beginning of a terribly unhappy timefor my master, and a mildly unhappy one for me. The apartment was lonely without its mistress. She had been selfish and disagreeable the most of the time when she was there, but we missed her.
My master would sit and look at her empty chair, his books and papers unheeded, then he would go to the telephone.
She got over her wounds and bruises, but she didn’t want to see my master. The doctors said her mind seemed slightly affected—she had better go away off in the country for treatment.
When this happened, there was a long silence from her, broken only occasionally by a report from a physician. Weeks and weeks went by. Miss Stanna got married, and went to live in the big stone house, but master never went near her, and his only recreation was his long walks at night.
We got very near to each other in those days, and Miss Stanna, or rather Mrs. Bonstone, meeting me in the street one morning, stooped down and patted me, saying, “You are a dear Boy-Dog; I don’t know what poor Rudolph would do without you.”
This pleased me immensely, and I stuck to my dear master closer than ever. Some of his friends were losing money by the war, but his business had improved, and the more money he made, the more he gave away.
Many a poor man blessed him for the help he rendered. The unemployment was dreadful, and the ones master helped were just the ones that the agencies for poor men did not touch. One night he kept apoor fellow from drowning himself in the Hudson. Master argued with him for an hour, and finally brought him home and had him sleep in his own bed. The poor lad was a gentleman and a foreigner, and was too proud to let his people know the plight he was in.
Some nights we cut across the city to Ellen’s avenue. It did us both good to go there. That Ellen was the dearest old soul I ever saw, and I loved to talk to Beanie now. I never saw such a changed dog. We used to tramp up the six flights of stairs to her flat, and when Beanie felt that we were coming, he would fly out of Ellen’s soft lap, and stand whining at the door, so we always found them waiting for us.
Beanie was quite handsome now. He had lost much of his flesh, and had quite a slender dog figure. Some one had told Ellen how valuable he was, and she was just eaten up with pride to think that she had such a well-bred dog.
BEANIE WAS QUITE HANDSOME NOW
BEANIE WAS QUITE HANDSOME NOW
BEANIE WAS QUITE HANDSOME NOW
There were a good many coloured people on the avenue, and they all petted Beanie, but instead of getting more stuck-up and proud, he had become quite a humble dog.
He used to talk to me by the hour, and tell me how kind Ellen and Robert Lee were to him. While master was talking to old Ellen, and despite himself, letting her know what some of his troubles were, Beanie would ask me questions about his dear mistress.
On this particular evening he had been talking as he often did about her accident.
“Beanie,” I said, “she wasn’t a true friend to you; why are you so sorry?”
“She brought me up,” he said. “She owned me. I can’t help loving her better than any one in the world.”
“But she is a very poor sort of a tool—now you know she is.”
“It doesn’t make any difference,” he said, shaking his head, “she was my mistress.”
“I believe you’re right,” I said, “but I’m not that kind of a dog. I can’t love persons unless I respect them.”
“Then you don’t know yet what true dog love is,” said Beanie. “I’d rather be unhappy with my dear Mrs. Granton than to be happy here with Ellen.”
“Is it because she is rich, and you like luxury?” I asked in a puzzled way.
“No, no. If Mrs. Granton were Ellen, and Ellen were Mrs. Granton, it would be all the same.”
“Well,” I said stoutly, “I’m glad you can’t live with her, for she would have killed you by this time with over-rich food.”
“I wouldn’t have minded dying for her,” said Beanie simply.
“Well,” I said, “it takes all kinds of dogs to fit the different kinds of owners,” and I ran to my own dear friend who was saying good-bye to Ellen in a depressed fashion.
Evidently he had been telling her that the blessing she had promised him had been changed into something else, for she was saying earnestly, “Sometimesthe wheels of the Lord’s chariot run slow, dear Sir, sometimes fast, but dey always roll. Dey never stand still. You jes’ wait an’ hope. I feel as if somethin’ great was jes’ a-hangin’ over you now.”
Master raised his hand, and a soft light fell on his handsome face from Ellen’s single, dim gas jet—That’s another thing poor people don’t have enough of—good light.
“Ellen,” he said, “if it ever does come, I’ll remember you.”
He talked to himself a good deal, when we started on our way home. We were taking our usual route now—that is, through Morningside Park which we climbed just under Cathedral Heights. We were getting home much earlier than usual, and there was an evening service just closing in the huge church which dominates this part of the city.
As we took the path which winds round the back of it, where the workmen chip the stone all day, and will for many days to come (for it will take years to finish the structure) an exquisite sound floated out on the night air.
Through some unfinished part of the building, this boy’s voice reached us—so clear, and sweet and promising. It soared by us, and right up to the stars.
Master started, looked at first disturbed, then comforted. He stopped short, gave one backward glance at the vast tract of brightly lighted city seen from this eminence, then walked quickly toward a side door of the cathedral, near one of the exquisite little chapels.
I had often been here before with him, but alwaysin the daytime, and he had made me wait for him outside, hidden behind some of the big blocks of stone.
However, to-night I pressed in after him, and he did not rebuke me. I knew a church was no place for dogs, but I was uneasy about my dear master, and did not want to leave him alone.
As he pushed open the swing door, such a blast of music met us. The whole thing was going now—organ and men’s voices, and it was magnificent.
Dogs like music as well as human beings do. Nothing entertains me more when I am tired than to have some lady sing and play the piano, and even a victrola is better than dead quiet.
Well, my master walked heavily in through the little door, and skirting the small chapels, went away down to the end of the church and took one of the last seats near the big doors.
There he sat down—poor, weary man, and laid his head on the back of the chair in front of him.
His soft hat rolled away in a corner, and I picked it up and put it on the seat next him. Then I sneaked in close to his feet.
He was making the low, soft noise that some people make in churches, for I have often stolen into them. This seemed to comfort him. The music rose and fell, and the boy’s voice soared and soared till in that evening hour, it seemed to be full of unnatural beauty and appeal.
It was almost dark where we were. A few of the lights high up in the cathedral were going, but we were far away, and they scarcely reached us. Theorgan went on after the human voices stopped—oh! the lovely music—sometimes soft and low, then high, and clear and sweet, and sometimes grumbling, like the waves of the sea in a storm.
I am only a dog, but the music told a story to me. I ran over all my past life, my ups and downs, my sorrows and delights—and I thought, if this means so much to me, when I understand it only on the surface, what must it mean to the weary, clever human being beside me.
After a time, the organ stopped. I think the organist had been having a good time to himself after the choir-boys had gone. Then a very strange thing happened. A voice sounded through the cathedral—a warm, persuasive voice, addressing all that army of vacant chairs.
My master started, and raised his head for a minute. Then it sank again. Afterward, I heard the explanation. A preacher who had come from a long way off, had heard of the teasing echo in the cathedral, and he was testing his voice. Every word he said seemed to be repeated. The immense building now looks as if it were cut in two, for it is only half finished. When it is quite done in years to come, the echo, it is said, will disappear.
I did not understand the words, but my master did. He listened intently, and I, who had got to know him so well, knew that a change was coming over his spirit. He was being comforted.
After a while the preacher followed the organist, and left the cathedral, but still my master did notgo home. I might have pulled his coat and reminded him of the passage of time, but I judged that this was not a case for my interference. I kept curled up on his feet, so they would not get chilled from the stone pavement, and there we sat, hour after hour, till I fell asleep.
After a time I felt his feet stirring, then he got up, found his hat, and groping his way to the big doors, began to walk up and down, up and down, very slowly and thoughtfully. I went to a corner and lay down, and it did not seem very long before the doors were opened for an early service. We were free. I gave him a long, searching glance, as we emerged from the cathedral grounds to broad Amsterdam Avenue. He was a different man. Something had happened in the church.
With a firm, free stride, he struck across the avenue, past Columbia University and Broadway to the Drive. He was in a terrible hurry to get home.
“Boy,” he said looking down at me with a light on his face I had not seen there since the accident to my mistress, “it’s all right now—happiness or sorrow. I shall not repine, but I feel as if we were going to receive good news.”
I was so glad he said “we” and not “I.” It made me feel a part of his family. I had to run to keep up with him at last. It seemed as if he could not go fast enough. When we got to the apartment house, and he entered the elevator which was always too speedy a one for my comfort, he acted as if he thought it was going slowly.
He whipped out his latch-key, and stepped very quickly to the parlour, and there on the table that always stood between him and his wife, lay a telegram.